


Discomfort

by randomnickname



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gags, Giriko the reluctant sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Undernegotiated Kink, Wax Play, slightly coercive sex, this fic is like five kinks in a trenchcoat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnickname/pseuds/randomnickname
Summary: "For once, let me take care of you."Justin forces Giriko out of his comfort zone.
Relationships: Giriko/Justin Law
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Discomfort

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags beforehand - this is a different tone from my usual stuff, and probably won't be some people's cup of tea. Fair warning!  
> Description of the scene in the end note, so you can decide to read it beforehand to give yourself a better idea of what you're going to read.  
> [ _Also obligatory reminder that this is a pure fantasy scenario and would be absolutely awful if it actually played out. In real life, your partner, nevermind how much they might love you, will never be able to correctly guess your super secret kink. They're not a telepath - you'd have to actively talk about it beforehand._  
>  _Still, skipping the mortifying ordeal of revealing your kink in order to jump straight to having it fulfilled is very hot to think about so i hope you enjoy wish-fulfillment porn as much as i do ;)_ ]

To say Giriko likes Justin's clothes would be too strong a word. He merely appreciates the plain, dark colors and slim fits Justin favors, and the way they hug his v-shaped frame. Why shouldn't he? He's got functional eyes.

Right now, though, every inch of fabric that is still shrouding Justin while Giriko's been buck naked for at least five minutes now, feels like a personal and completely undeserved affront.

"Why are you still dressed?" Giriko complains once more, dourly eyeing Justin's belt buckle. He'd do something about it if his wrists weren’t handcuffed over his head, high enough he has to crane his neck to look up.

"Because you won't stop wriggling," Justin answers distantly, and fastens the knot around his left ankle. "Hold _still_."

Giriko lets his head flop back down on the pillow, pouting. Justin's suggestion to tie him up had sounded fun enough at first (although Giriko was careful not to jump too eagerly on the offer). They’ve done this once or twice before, and there is a very particular thrill to being able to watch, but not to touch, while Justin rides his dick like a champ. But Justin’s been acting a bit weird today, although Giriko can't pinpoint what exactly is off.

"This is taking _ages!_ " he grouches.

There's a soothing caress on his calf. It's the first touch that isn't target-oriented since they entered the bedroom, Giriko notices.

"Shush. There we go," Justin says, still in that oddly reserved tone. He really could stand to show some more enthusiasm, Giriko decides. He doesn't feel that horny anymore, himself, that with all the time it took Justin to light up candles around the bed like this is the setup to some romantic shit rather than a kinky shag. Although the warm lighting is admittedly nice, with how it reflects on skin like it’s glowing from within. If Giriko was the type, he’d even call it erotic.

He lifts his head to look at Justin's handiwork - and snorts, bemused. No wonder the position seemed askew - his left ankle is connected to the right end of the bed.

"Oi," he chuckles, "you tied me to the wrong bedpost, dumbass!"

"No."

“Huh?”

Before Giriko can so much as frown in confusion, Justin grabs his right foot and pulls, up and around, forcing Giriko to roll over on his belly. He's too surprised to resist, and ends up with his face pressed to the mattress, caged by his outstretched arms. There's a light tug on his ankle as Justin fastens the second knot.

Giriko blinks, baffled. "Eh, Justin? How am I supposed to fuck you like this?" he asks after a few beats, his voice muffled by the meat of his own shoulder, and wriggles a bit. Barely any give.

Another touch on his calf. This one lingers.

"You won't fuck me tonight, Giriko," Justin calmly says.

"What?" Giriko answers automatically, before he processes. "Justin. What the _fuck_ is going on?"

There's no answer, and Giriko starts to struggle in earnest. With his thighs spread that wide open, the light draft cools his balls, and he feels very exposed all of a sudden. He curses, fists clenching, trying and failing to move his legs more than an inch in any direction. The handcuff's metal bites into his wrists when he yanks down, and he curses some more. This is _not_ what he expected to be doing right now.

"You better give me an explanation for this _right the fuck now_ ," he growls. Is this Justin's idea of a joke? If so, it's not funny.

Instead of answering Justin slowly trails two cold fingers up the length of Giriko's leg, smooth fingernails stroking his broad thigh, the mound of his fleshy ass.

Giriko represses a shiver. The touch is far more gentle and intimate than what he usually tolerates, and he snarls, "Hands off the goods," trying to scowl at Justin above his shoulder.

But his vision is half-obscured by his muscled shoulder and the rebellious hair strands that decided to fall in his eyes now of all times, and all he can discern in the flickering candle light is a dark shape, looming beside his back. He swallows, throat jammed tight.

Justin's fingers do not slow at Giriko's words, instead continuing their unhurried trek up and up his spine, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake - and it would feel real nice if Giriko hadn't just told him to back off.

" _Justin_ ," he starts again, warningly, but then Justin's hand comes to a halt on the base of his neck, rests there heavy and possessive, like it's supposed to be there, as if because the two of them are fucking (ok, dating) (ok, _living together_ , hell), Justin can touch him however he pleases. Giriko bristles.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he hisses, shock and fury twisting his voice much higher than he likes. It's embarrassing - as soon as he understands what the hell is going on he's killing Justin, he's so pissed.

But underneath that automatic flare of anger there's a new, foreign feeling pulsing in his rib cage like a second heart. It feels as if the room's temperature has increased several degrees, and he blinks, fast.

What the _fuck_ is happening?

Justin firmly squeezes the back of his neck, strong fingers pinning him down like an unruly mutt, and Giriko forgets how to breathe.

Something flashes up his spine, bright like an acid and twice as potent - and even as the air he manages to draw back into his lungs escapes him anew as a wet gasp, he doesn't understand what it is he feels.

It's far too warm in here.

Sweat beads on Giriko’s forehead where his face is mushed against the pillows. Metallic tasting saliva pools in his mouth, and he swallows heavily. His body feels estranged.

“You're too tense," Justin comments, somewhere over him. His voice rings distant to Giriko's ears, in which the blood drums loud enough to drown out worlds.

Then, sternly: "You really have to relax."

Justin’s tone of command pierces the warm fog Giriko has been drowning in. His fierce hatred of authority, always so instinctual it’s close to second nature, is sluggish to respond; but he forces himself to tense up nonetheless, summoning up familiar defiance until the taste of it fills his mouth like brine. He obeys to no one, no exceptions, that’s who he is, who he’s always been. That’s how it works. Whatever game this is, he's not going to play the part of the pet dog.

His chest rumbles with a deep growl. "FUCK. _OFF!!_ " he snarls.

Justin sighs. He sounds disappointed, but unsurprised.

He lets go of Giriko's neck, and that sudden loss of contact leaves Giriko off-kilter, quenching his rising rage. The square of skin where Justin's hand just rested feels cold and naked. Vulnerable.

He licks his dry lips. "Justin," he grits out, trying to infuse his voice with menace, but the words sound rough, hoarse as if he's screamed. "You gotta untie me, right the fuck now." He balls his hands to fists to hide their tremors. They are shaking, but it’s not anger. Not fear, either, not exactly.

There's a little _plop_ noise, then Justin straddles the small of Giriko's back, settling down and wiggling to make himself comfortable, like he's a fucking couch cushion. Giriko makes an impotent noise of rage, then Justin's hands are back on his shoulders and neck, slippery with what his nose identifies as almond oil.

"No, I won’t," Justin says, and digs his fingertips deep into the corded muscles.

Giriko groans despite himself, eyes fluttering shut. He loves massages, a rare treat in their relationship, and Justin with his strong hands is ridiculously good at them. They wander up and down his spine with skillful, rolling motions, exerting just the right amount of pressure, and every protest dies in Giriko's throat. Within a moment he is awash with that bone-deep, pleasurable ache which liquefies muscle and mind - and distracts him from that unequivocal 'no'.

He feels himself sink deeper and deeper, limbs going soft and languid. _This is all wron_ g, he keeps reminding himself, t _his is all wrong, he told me no, he shouldn't ever tell me no when we're like this_ , but it's hard to maintain the appropriate level of righteous fury when he feels as if he might melt to goo any second. He knows, he knows it's on purpose, dammit. A fucking bribe to make him compliant. Doesn’t matter, it works.

After a long while has passed, Justin makes a satisfied noise. "There, that's better."

Giriko opens a bleary eye. Focusing his gaze is difficult, all he sees is his shoulder and the pillow. "Did you ... did you set this shit up just to give me a fuckin' massage?" he asks, dazed.

As he says it, he realizes with mute horror that he doesn't actually _want_ Justin to say yes, doesn’t want Justin to untie him and say it was a joke. Doesn't want the situation to stop at this.

What, then? What _does_ he want?

He doesn’t dare consider it.

There's a chuckle, and Justin delicately cards his fingers through his hair. Another one of those far too gentle touches that Giriko would usually never allow. He bows his head in an effort to escape, mushing his face deeper into the pillow, scalp tingling.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," Justin says tranquilly, as if it's self-evident. Giriko shudders despite the warmth. Goosebumps travel across his oiled back, and a tight, fierce heat settles, deep in his belly.

"Then ... what's this for?" The words crumble like desert sand in his mouth.

Justin softly kisses his neck, right behind his ear. Giriko's earrings jingle when he brushes them with his nose.

"I'm going to make you feel good tonight, my love." His mouth travels down Giriko's neck, impossibly warm and soft - there's no way he doesn't feel Giriko's pulse jump like a rabbit against his lips. "You won't have to do anything. Just trust me. Let me take care of you."

He slides down to lay half atop Giriko, one leg over his, the cotton of his shirt and jeans scratchy-dry against Giriko's naked, oiled skin, and rests his arm and head on Giriko's outstretched shoulder.

Giriko can see the vague outline of his face from the corner of his eye. If he could twist his head by a further 90 degree like some nightmarish owl, he’d be able to bite off Justin's nose and drench the pillows in blood.

Part of him wants to, is conjuring up gory fantasies of what he could do to Justin, should do to Justin as soon as his hands are free, fair retaliation for being forced into a situation he never asked for; but more urgent is the increasing heat in his abdomen, the adrenaline coursing like wildfire through his veins, the confusing sparks the calm confidence in Justin's voice summons.

"This doesn't .. this doesn't feel good, Justin!" he protests, clenching his teeth to fend off the dizzy warmth in his head.

It's not supposed to feel good. It's not allowed to feel good.

In answer, one of Justin's hands glides across his thigh and between his legs. Giriko bucks up, back violently arching, when it reaches underneath his balls and lingers on his helplessly hard cock.

"Sure about that?" Justin asks mildly.

Giriko, mortified, remains silent.

"I know you, Giriko," Justin whispers close to his ear. "I know what you need, maybe better than you do yourself. And tonight I'll give it to you."

There's a slightly hypnotic quality to his voice. The very tip of his fingers, warmed up through the massage, brush against Giriko's oversensitive cock, and to Giriko's great shame a muffled moan escapes his lips as he forces his hips to keep still.

"You don't need to say anything," Justin goes on. "I don't need to hear a 'yes'. But if you want me to stop ... You'll have to tell me to."

Giriko takes a big, shaky gulp of air. His lungs seem unable to process oxygen properly, or why else is he feeling so light-headed? Maybe it’s the temperature, that must be reaching tropical.

It's far too warm in here.

"Just say 'stop'." Justin bows his head to press a kiss to his pulse point. "At anytime. This ceases. Promise."

Justin's promises are rare, and always kept. Which means Giriko can say stop.

_Should_ stay stop.

He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it.

Closes it.

He can feel Justin watching him intently, scrutinizing his every twitch and blink, waiting. His tongue feels thick like play dough, too clumsy to form anything as sophisticated as words.

Why is Justin asking him to think, to choose? Why now? Everything seemed crystal clear just a few moments ago, but now his entire reality has shifted, his worldview scrambled upside down, and things he thought he knew for sure - about himself, about Justin, about that thing they have between them - are cast into a new, confusing light.

He doesn't want to reflect it, doesn't want to acknowledge the strength of this newly discovered need. Acrid resentment at Justin flashes through him, for offering an out, for forcing Giriko to take responsibility for his own warring wants.

But if he closes his eyes, focuses on the rope and metal against his skin, on the strain in his outstretched limbs ... the illusion can be maintained. That there's no way out, that what's happening to him and his enjoyment of it is beyond his control. That this doesn't make him any lesser.

He relaxes. He doesn't need to choose, is unable to. This is Justin's doing, not his own; it’s not his responsibility. He doesn't need to say anything, do anything. He can just ... be.

Some of his relief must show, because Justin murmurs a hushed, drawn-out 'good' against his skin, and stops teasing his cock in order to pet his hair again.

This time Giriko doesn't shy away from the touch, just clenches his jaw shut and tries with all might not to whimper; it’s bad enough he can’t bring himself to say stop, he's not about to let Justin hear how much what he is doing affects him, too. But it certainly does affect him. It's as if he can feel every single hair where it connects to his scalp, the warmth of each of Justin’s fingers, all of his senses exacerbated to an almost painful degree. How a touch that simple can get him to shake like a new-born foal is beyond him.

Justin's hand tightens in his hair, and then he is pulling Giriko's head back at a sharp angle, twisting it towards him. His face finally appears in Giriko's field of vision, more gorgeous than ever in the candlelight, blue eyes watchful and serious. "You'll be good for me, yes?"

Despite, or maybe because of, the pressure on his airways Giriko's breath comes out in quick spurts. It's too loud, too obvious, but he doesn't manage to slow it down. He closes his eyes, escaping Justin's piercing gaze. It feels as if his face his set aflame. "Fuck you," he manages to grunt, but the words have more nerve than fire to them.

There's an indulgent chuckle, then a short brush of lips against his forehead. "We've already established that won't happen tonight, darling.”

Justin carefully releases his grip on Giriko's hair, easing him down on the cushion. Grateful for the opportunity to hide, Giriko presses his face against the cooler fabric. His head is swimming, his thoughts jumbled, his entire body thrumming in expectation.

Justin's weight shifts on the mattress, his voice ringing a bit more distant as he sits up. "What we are going to do is hurt you, a bit." One of his hands rests on Giriko's ass, squeezing one cheek with the casual confidence of ownership. There's a very slight noise that may be an object scraping against the wood of the bedside table.

Giriko's eyes widen. "Wha ...?" he chokes, even as adrenaline lights up his spine. He’s used to brutality, in and outside the bedroom, relishes it to some degree - but the idea of being methodically subjected to it while he can’t move, can’t fight back ... that’s a different kind of masochism. One he isn’t sure he wants to have as a turn-on.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," Justin soothes, like he’s talking down a spooked horse, and strokes the back of Giriko’s thigh. Despite his stated intention of hurting Giriko, his touch is very light, barely there. There’s no weight, no pressure. A soft ghost of a touch.

It is absurdly enticing.

Justin is not a gentle person, never has been, not towards Giriko, at least; the violence in which their relationship was birthed remains a staple of their lives, despite the edge of play it gained. On normal days Justin’s hands will grab, squeeze, grope, scratch - this unwonted, teasing contact puts Giriko on edge, and as pleasurable as it feels it makes him ache with anticipation, yearning for a real touch ...

Something intensely hot splashes on his back.

He jolts, yanking on his bounds as searing pain flashes through him - but before he can start processing what happened the patch on his back cools down to mere warmth, and the pain is gone. He pants, heart racing, skin buzzing. _What the hell?_...

"Wax," Justin comments, laconic, and Giriko finally understands the candles. Fucker had it all planned. Always the perfectionist, it seems.

Justin’s hand is resuming its gentle, feather-light strokes along Giriko's legs, near his balls, which is how Giriko realizes he's grown rock hard again.

Uh oh. Seems it is _very_ much of a turn-on.

Before he has the time to be mortified at his own body’s reactions, more molten wax dribbles on his shoulder blades, drawing a loud gasp from his lips. Instinctively he twists and writhes away from the ardent pain, and once more it is gone after a few heartbeats, knocking him off balance. A long shiver shakes him from head to toes, and when Justin blows on the oversensitive, hot skin of his back he has to bite down on the pillow to muffle his keening.

Justin makes a pleased sound. “There you go. You’re doing so great, baby.”

Giriko squeezes his eyes shut, horribly self-conscious about the noises he’s made. _That’s not you_ , he repeats to himself like a mantra, _don’t think about it, you don’t sound like that, that wasn’t you, don’t think about it_ ... When Justin fondles his balls he tries not to react, to lay still and passive as if this is all a particularly detailed and pleasant dream. If only he could disconnect his mind, let go of his consciousness so only feelings remain ...

Splash. Wax pools in the groove of his spine, and he jerks as if hit with a live wire. This time he can’t hold back a wanton moan of pain, nor the whine that follows when Justin rubs up along his cock.

It _horrifies_ him.

He loathes that those sounds stem from him, how weak they make him seem, make him feel. Another moan escapes his lips as more wax runs down his oiled shoulders, filling him with a rush of self-disgust so sharp it overshadows even the bright pain-pleasure.

He sounds like a whore, like a dog, like something small and needy and submissive to be used then discarded, and every fiber of his being resist being perceived like that, seen like that, even if it’s just the two of them here, him and the person he trusts the most in the entire world.

A dry, panicked sob catches in his throat. No no no _no_ ... He’s messing up, he’s messing it up ... He has to stop _thinking_ or the moment will be ruined and he _can’t_ lose it, is too far gone already to stop now. But he’s not deaf and his brain won’t cooperate, refuses to filter out his own moans, refuses to let him have this. It’s so unfair he wants to scream, to tear someone’s throat out with his teeth.

“Shit,” he chokes, fists convulsively clenching. “Shit, Justin ...” It’s a plea, even if he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. “I ...”

He sounds so pathetic he almost expect Justin to mock him for it. But in an instant he’s at his side, his weight denting the mattress next to Giriko’s head.

“What is it, darling?” Justin asks, without any hint of judgment, gently stroking Giriko’s flat cheekbone with the back of one finger. “Tell me.”

Having no answer to offer, Giriko twists his head to the side and presses his face into Justin’s palm. His breathing silenced by the meat of Justin’s hand and with the familiar smell of almond oil in his nose, the worst of the panic fades immediately. He nuzzles Justin’s palm and takes shallow breaths, in and out, in and out, feeling his galloping heartbeat ease up. He waits.

There’s a moment of contemplative silence, then Justin seems to get it. He shifts his hand, resting two fingers on Giriko’s bottom lip.

“Open up.”

Giriko obediently parts his lips some more, and Justin slides in, fingers pressing down on Giriko’s tongue.

“Suck.”

His fingernails are rough against Giriko’s palate, his skin very slightly salty against his tongue as he suckles. He hums in relief, swallowing to get rid of excess saliva. Justin stuffs his mouth full with the remaining two fingers, only his thumb remaining outside, maintaining a light grip on Giriko’s chin. His fingers completely fill up Giriko’s mouth now, lodged between his teeth, making it difficult for him to do anything but loudly breathe through his nose. His focus shifts away from how he sounds, how he’s perceived, narrows down until only the primal instinct of breathing around the obstruction remains.

“I see,” Justin says softly, spreading his fingers a bit. Giriko feels himself relax further, secure in the knowledge that Justin has understood his problem, that he will remedy to it, astute and competent like he always is.

It should terrify him, how much he’s grown to trust Justin, to rely on him.

(It should terrify him that it doesn’t.)

The fingers retreat with a wet noise, and Giriko, torn out of his headspace, frowns in dismay as they catch on his lips in parting. Justin’s weight shifts again, up and away, then there’s hands at Giriko’s ankles, untying the knots.

Giriko’s eyes widen with fear. “Hey! What are you?...” he roughs out, and lifts his head to try and look over his shoulder. Did he mess it up? Is Justin calling it all off? But he didn’t say stop, didn’t even think it, Justin has no reason to -

“It’s all good,” Justin says. “I want you on your back, I need to see your face.”

He tugs at Giriko’s hip and Giriko heavily rolls with the motion, back to the position in which they started minutes or hours ago, before the entire world rocked in its hinges and twisted upside down. He blinks and squints in the sudden light, the return of vision almost overwhelming.

Justin is sitting near his feet, the ropes still in his hands; after an assessing look at Giriko’s expression, he reties his ankles to the bed frame, making sure to pull the knots tight. Giriko doesn’t protest, instead spreading his legs further so he can feel the ropes bite into his skin. A promise. _You’re staying here until this is done. You’re not going anywhere._

Anticipation coils in his belly and he raises his head to watch as Justin retrieves silky briefs and a roll of duct tape. When he straddles him his weight is warm and grounding on Giriko’s rib cage.

“So you want me to shut you up, hm?” Justin purrs, catching Giriko’s jaw with his free hand and squishing his cheeks in a way that should be infuriating. A teasing smile spreads on his handsome face. “Shame, then you won’t be able to put that mouth to good use.”

Giriko’s breath hitches, his gaze drifting down to Justin’s jeans-clad crotch before he can help it.

Justin raises an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, but you _want_ to?”

Giriko swallows, feeling cornered. “Shut the fuck up,” he snaps out of habit. His voice is too small, embarrassingly so, and he impatiently eyes the duct tape to distract himself from his flaming cheeks. Can’t Justin get on with it already?!

“You’re so easy to read,” Justin says with a pretty laugh.

Giriko glares. “Don’t be a fuckin’ dick -” he starts, but then Justin swoops down to kiss him.

It’s sudden enough that Giriko melts into it without a thought, opening his mouth wide to grant Justin better access. Justin weaves his fingers with Giriko’s, above his shackled wrists, and leads the kiss, exploring Giriko’s mouth with confident laps of his tongue, sucking and nibbling at his tongue and lips. The familiarity of it is comforting amidst the whirlwind of novel sensations, and soon Giriko feels warm and languid, his entire body flush with liquid heat, tongue lazily tangling with Justin’s.

Then there’s the sound of an opening zipper, loud as a gunshot.

Giriko startles. Justin is monitoring his reaction closely, watching his breathing speed up and his lips part, and takes it as his cue. He presses a final kiss to Giriko’s mouth then quickly tugs his jeans down, pulling his handsome dick out of his boxer briefs.

Giriko licks his lip, staring at it. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a stallion lashing at corral fences. He feels his own cock twitch.

“Gonna fuck your mouth now, sweetheart,” Justin says easily, as if this is something they do every week-end, as if he’s ever called Giriko pet names unironically to his face before, as if that sentence, that entire situation isn’t so ludicrous it’d have thrown Giriko into an awkward laughing fit just an hour ago.

But now laughter is the last thing on his mind as Justin kneels across his face and guides his erect cock to Giriko’s mouth. He lets his jaw fall open without a thought and Justin glides in deep, silky smooth, feeding Giriko every last inch until his nose brushes Justin’s trimmed pubic hair.

He tastes clean and salty, and at this angle his cock fills Giriko’s mouth so thoroughly it barely allows him to breathe - when Justin starts moving, careful thrusts of his hips, it’s all he can do not to choke.

It feels nothing like blowing Justin. That’s something he enjoys doing, prides himself in being good at whenever he turns the other into a needy, mewling mess with a few skillful pulls of his mouth.

This - him having to lay there and take it, unable to turn his head away, barely even able to breathe - is different. Justin’s cock feels thicker, meatier in his mouth, and even though his movements are controlled Giriko finds himself close to gagging at the slides of the shaft along his tongue.

Justin pulls out, allowing Giriko to take a good breath and swallow down some of the saliva that pools in his mouth and coats the cock in front of him in a shiny web; then he gently presses onward again, past Giriko’s lips and deep into his mouth, and starts fucking his face in earnest, building up to a steady rhythm.

Giriko feels his eyes lose focus, his lashes grow wet. The entire universe shrinks down to the cock driving into his mouth, the ache in his jaw, the burn in his throat, Justin’s quiet pants. The struggle for oxygen.

He starts to float.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Justin breathes out, somewhere over him. His hips snap forward in a thrust strong enough it pushes Giriko deeper into the pillows. Giriko must make some kind of gagging noise then, because Justin slips out of his mouth and sits back on his haunches, looking at Giriko. He’s a bit red in the face, eyes gleaming.

“You’re good?” he asks simply.

Giriko, his throat sore but feeling warm all over, merely nods, eyes half-shut, taking ragged breaths. His cock is hard, aching, and if his hands were free he’d be rubbing one off as they speak; with that option taken away from him he can’t humiliate himself further by showing how much getting his face fucked turns him on. But judging from Justin’s satisfied smile it might show, still.

Justin wipes away a stray tear caught in Giriko’s lower eyelashes, and cups his cheek.

“The plan for tonight was to fuck you, but since you wanted me in your mouth ...”

His thumb catches at Giriko’s wet underlip. “I think I’d like to come in here, rather than your ass. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

There’s dark heat in his voice, stoking the fire rushing through Giriko’s veins - he closes his eyes, helpless against the tide of want. He doesn’t usually let Justin come in his mouth but right now everything is warm, everything is good, everything Justin does to him turns him on further. When he lifts his chin and lets his mouth fall open invitingly he manages not to think about what it is he’s agreeing to, the optics of it, even as shame flushes his cheeks bright. The only thing that matters is Justin’s pleased hum, the smell of his arousal, the supple texture of his cock’s head when it brushes against Giriko’s lips.

“ _God_ , you look _so_ good like this,” Justin says, breathless in his sincerity. “Beautiful.”

He pushes in, just the tip, one hand pumping at his dick, fast. “Come on, babe, suck.”

Giriko obliges, sucking hard as Justin rocks forward with tiny motions. Justin’s free hand rakes through Giriko’s hair, and when it suddenly tightens around a handful of strands Giriko knows he is close. Pain prickles across Giriko’s scalp and his mouth fills with bitter as Justin gasps, hips jerking forward with a few last, haphazard thrusts. Giriko moans, swallowing around Justin’s cock, desperately aroused, and coughs when Justin pulls out at last, leaving a sticky trail on Giriko’s chin.

Justin, retrieving his breath, flashes Giriko a fond grin. “You’ve been so good for me, sweetheart,” he says, and tenderly wipes the remnants of cum off Giriko’s face. “So very good.”

Giriko feels so pent up it’s a wonder the mattress hasn’t caught fire yet. “ _C’mon_ ,” he whines, almost delirious in his need to be touched, and arcs his body up brusquely. Justin, seated on Giriko’s torso, nearly loses his balance.

He frowns. “Now that won’t do,” he says with a disapproving tut of his tongue once he’s steadied himself. “Don’t you trust me to take care of you properly?”

Giriko merely shakes his head in impatience. “Hnn ...”

Justin’s hands graze Giriko’s torso. And viciously pinch his nipples. Giriko yowls.

“We’re doing things _properly_ ,” Justin says sternly. “Impatience will get you nowhere. Understood?”

Giriko, eyes glazed over, breathing too fast, nods. The furnace within him threatens to implode, it seems, and he can feel sweat beading in the hollow of his neck, the crook of his knees, on his forehead. He’ll agree to anything if it means Justin will touch him, take care of him, help him finally find release.

“Good. Open up.”

The soft, folded briefs are stuck into his mouth and fastened with duct tape, tugging at Giriko’s stubble. He can’t produce much more than a few muffled sounds now, which is a relief. Justin lays down next to him, pressing little kisses to his biceps, and coats the fingers of his right hand with lube.

When he reaches between Giriko’s legs Giriko starts trembling, and feels a pang of gratitude for the gag when Justin’s hand brushes his balls and his eager groan is muted.

“This won’t take long,” Justin quietly notes. “Cock ring, next time.” And that would definitely be something to ponder upon, if there wasn’t the more urgent matter of getting off.

Justin gently lifts Giriko’s balls, finds the entrance behind, and starts rubbing. Giriko inhales sharply - he didn’t know how sensitive he was there, how different yet similar to having his cock touched it would feel. It’s far less foreign than he thought it would be, merely a new exciting landmark on the map of his body. When Justin slowly works in a wet finger Giriko’s head snaps back, and he tries not to clench up against the intrusion. There’s no pain, just pressure; but it feels weird, intense and sharp and ... _good_ , and when Justin starts pumping back and forth at a slow rhythm he lets his eyes flutter shut, focusing on that new sensation and on his body’s responses to it. He’s starting to get used to it, adjusting his breathing to the movements of Justin’s finger, when the angle suddenly changes.

His eyes fly back open, to find Justin smiling at him.

“Prostate,” Justin confirms, and Giriko knew it was there, obviously, but there’s a big difference to actually _feeling_ that electric sensation deep within, how it seems to spark brighter and brighter with every small nudge of Justin’s finger. A moan of pleasure builds up low in his throat, muffled to neutrality by the gag.

Justin is watching him with a possessive, hungry expression he’s never worn before, and Giriko can barely stand it, feels heat flushing his face in response - but he can’t look away. It’s so much to feel, more than he thought he _could_ feel, a tide of sensation in which he’s helplessly drowning, sweat gushing from every pore and breath coming in quick spurts as Justin steadily fingers his ass.

"That's it, baby, I got you," Justin murmurs. His free hand wraps around Giriko’s throat, squeezes - and that’s what does it. A heady flare of acid rushes through Giriko’s spine, liquefies his insides until all he feels is raw, electrifying bliss. He wheezes against the gag, eyes watering, legs jerking against their restraints, and when Justin’s finger next nudges his prostate his hips cant up and he comes, muscles spasming and cock releasing thick white ribbons that splash on his stomach.

He sags back, breathing hard through his nose. The pleasure is ebbing back, leaving him dizzy, shaky and weirdly oversensitive. His limbs are heavy, his mind blank.

He vaguely registers how Justin unties his ankles and unlocks the handcuffs, carefully leading Giriko’s arms down to a more comfortable position. He lets his head be lifted and the gag removed, and when Justin puts a bottle to his mouth he drinks unthinkingly, greedily, some of the water spilling down his torso. There’s a mellow numbness in his head, as if he’s filled with clouds, and he allows it, embraces it, lets himself be reshaped by it. No more thinking tonight. No more fighting himself.

He’s starting to feel cold, but Justin, observant and prepared as always, wipes down his torso with a towel and covers the both of them with a light duvet. It’s soon toasty warm and Giriko feels himself melt some more.

The candles are still burning, their flickering light casting deep black shadows in the bedroom.

How long have they been at it? An hour? Two? Giriko couldn’t tell. He’s exhausted to the bones. Probably couldn’t move if he wanted to. Utterly vulnerable. Justin is caressing his flank, murmuring soft, almost inaudible reassurances in his ear. Watching over him, keeping him safe.

He doesn’t need to be in control, in here. Doesn’t need the hardness, the defiance, the aggression. Is not lesser without them, in here.

He thinks he likes it.

After a while and with all of his remaining strength, Giriko curls up against his boyfriend, burrowing his head in his neck, and Justin holds him close, breathing warmly against his hair, stroking his back at a soothing rhythm. Giriko exhales. At peace.

As sleep slowly summons him, two certitudes impress upon Giriko’s mind, self-evident as laws of nature.

They won’t talk about this tomorrow, he knows, or the day after that. There’ll be no allusions, no knowing smirks, no inside jokes. It will be as if it never happened at all.

But at some point, he also knows, in a week or in a month, he’s bound to light those very same candles, lay down buck naked on their bed, and let Justin take care of him.

And it will be so very good.

**Author's Note:**

> Song inspiration: “Depeche Mode - Should be higher” for that sexy, dark vibe.  
> This turned out SO. DAMN. LONG. Which is ... proportionate i guess, if you consider i’ve written at it on and off for over a year, lol.  
> If you enjoyed this fic please let me know - comments, short and long, really make my day. Or come say hello on my tumblr (@randomishnickname)! I’m always up for a chat.  
> Hope you liked it ;)
> 
> [ _Scene description:_  
>  _Giriko agrees to have what he thinks will be regular light bondage sex, but Justin tricks him and ties him up spread-eagled on his belly, and refuses to untie him or stop touching him when Giriko tells him to. Instead he gives Giriko a massage so he relaxes enough that Justin can then expose his plan: he will make Giriko feel good because he knows what Giriko secretly wants (and uses Giriko’s erection as a proof of Giriko's interest, which is kinda manipulative, really). Giriko doesn’t need to actively comply, but he can say no (Justin promises to stop if Giriko says 'stop'). Giriko, confused and turned on, doesn’t say no and therefore implicitly agrees. There's some wax play and more of Justin being able to tell what turns Giriko on from just looking at his face. Justin fucks Giriko's mouth, gags him then fingers him to completion. There's some sappy aftercare. Everyone is happily satiated at the end, if still confused and unwilling to verbalize the experience in Giriko's case. But Giriko knows he'll try to reproduce the experience in the future._ ]


End file.
